


Spun Like Gold

by Willow_bird



Series: Dragons are Disasters [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Modern Fantasy, Alternate Universe - No Exy, But is it really?, Dragon!Neil, Longing, M/M, Neil is a dragon, POV Neil Josten, Pining, also by dragon i mean like -- dragon shifter guy, and (as per usual) has no clue what to do about it, dumb boys in love, he has special feelings for Andrew, i still had fun with it, yes I know it's kinda ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27394753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willow_bird/pseuds/Willow_bird
Summary: Neil Josten's survival depends on him following his mother's rules. Her number one rule? Never acquire a hoard, because it will get you killed.Oops.----So, you've heard of Disaster Gay Andrew Minyard? Wait until you meet Disaster Dragon Neil Josten.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Series: Dragons are Disasters [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2163120
Comments: 57
Kudos: 355





	Spun Like Gold

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO FRIENDS! 
> 
> This exists because I went to my dear, dear friend @alittlelately / likearecord and was like "hey, I wanna write something fluffy today that has nothing to do with my ongoing monsters" and she was like "DRAGONS" and I said "OK" and here we are. 
> 
> I also present you with my first ever beta'd fic! Because the very same darling who gave me the idea ALSO was super fabulous and agreed to help me make this drabble coherent. (THANK YOU LOVE)
> 
> Without further ado ~ enjoy!

Neil spent a lot of time avoiding things he could not have. Wanting was dangerous, after all, especially when you were a dragon. His mom had drilled that into him so many times that he'd stopped counting, and stopped questioning. 

Mom's number one rule: Never acquire a hoard, because it will get you killed.

When you have a hoard, you'll do anything to keep it, anything to keep it _safe_. Even at the expense of yourself. Hoards were a liability -- and were arguably the single biggest reason why dragons were so rare today. Each and every one of them had a glaring weakness that wasn’t difficult to figure out if you knew where to look. Considering that for centuries, the biggest threat to dragons were _other dragons_ , it wasn’t really a wonder that the old clans had steadily wiped each other out to the brink of extinction.

The Hatfords were one of the last true clans left in the developed world. They definitely never would have agreed to marrying off one of their own to the certifiably psychotic Nathan Wesninski if he weren't one of the most powerful loners in a territory they'd been itching to sink their claws into for decades. Centuries, probably. Neil kinda understood why his mom hadn't brought them back to her clan when she'd finally had enough, took him, and fled.

Of course, his mom was gone now. He'd burned her bones with his own fire the night she died. It was an old tradition to keep the scale of a loved one if you ever had to be separated by death or distance, but he’d promised his mother he’d burn that too if she ever died on him -- so he had. All he had left of her was her rules and the smell of her hair as it burned. He didn’t have her scale or anything else to remember her by, but he’d followed those rules to keep himself alive in the years that followed, just like she’d have wanted. 

Stay anonymous. Never stay in the same place for long. Do not allow temptations to sway you. Keep no personal effects, nothing that might develop into a hoard. And never, _ever_ allow yourself to become attached to someone. There was no hoard more dangerous than one that could carve your heart out itself -- and that wasn't even a metaphor.

Basically, Neil was fucked. He was so _so_ fucked.

Why was Neil fucked?

Neil was fucked because he'd decided to hide out in Palmetto and now… well. 

_Now_ , Neil was sitting on the roof of the apartment building he was currently living in, trying not to think about Andrew. Andrew, who lived in the apartment across the hall from him and worked at the bookstore with him and shared his cigarettes with him and told him truths and had eyes like spun gold and hair that looked _so soft_ and…

Yeah. Problem. See? _Problem._

A small scuff of boots against cement announced Andrew's approach but Neil didn't need the sound to know that Andrew was there. A cosmic warmth had already begun to resonate in his chest maybe a minute or so before the sound, when Andrew had entered the conservative radius of his dragon sense. It wasn't a very useful dragon power, to be completely honest. All it did was tell him if his hoard was close and, in some cases, where it was. The longer a dragon had claimed that particular piece of his hoard, the larger the radius stretched to accommodate it. The details of it weren't all that important. The important thing to note was that Neil had been sensing _Andrew_ for several weeks now.

It was definitely something to be concerned about, and Neil knew that he should have skipped town the second he’d first thought he’d sensed Andrew’s presence. Instead, he’d told himself (stupidly), _“No, that can’t possibly be what it is,”_ and proceeded to ignore it for several weeks until he really just couldn’t anymore. 

That warmth grew pleasantly in his chest as Andrew took his usual place beside him, distracting Neil from his circular thoughts. Neil turned slightly, just the tilt of his head, to be able to look at Andrew (because, well, even if he was aware that Andrew being his hoard was an incredibly bad thing, that wasn’t going to stop him from actually _appreciating_ how nice he was to look at) and was launched from the whirlpool of his brooding at the sight of the viciously purple bruise that hugged his cheekbone like an angry hand. 

Something inside Neil popped and snapped and it took more control than he had ever had to exercise in his life to keep his claws from unsheathing. He could not, however, completely swallow the snarl that bubbled up from his chest, rumbling out at a pitch far deeper than a man his size should really be able to produce. 

Andrew looked over at him, only the slight raise of his eyebrows showing he felt anything at all regarding the outburst. Even then, it wasn’t alarm -- just something closer to… curiosity. 

“Who?” Neil asked, all his attention fixed on that bruise. His voice rumbled, too feral to be human, but Neil didn’t care. All he cared about was the dark stain on Andrew’s cheek. Someone had hit him. Someone had _harmed_ him, and Neil had not been there to stop it. 

“Does it matter?” Andrew asked, like he already knew the answer and he thought it was ‘no’.

Neil growled again, not something he was used to doing but also something that came very naturally when _Andrew_ had just shown up with a bruise the size of Greenland on his fucking face. It wasn’t even really the idea of violence that bothered Neil. Andrew could certainly take care of himself. But the idea, the _notion_ that someone had dared to harm, to threaten, to _touch_ what was _his_ had the beast of Neil’s instincts roaring. There was a monster within his skin, ready to tear down whoever dared to trespass where they would never be permitted.

“Who?” he asked again, because he didn’t really have the capacity for words beyond that one until his question was answered. He could not hold back his claws, his fangs, his _fire_ \-- and _also_ maintain a proficient grasp of his already limited conversational skills. He was a fucking dragon, not a magician.

Andrew took his damn time shaking out a cigarette, lighting it, then taking a long drag. On another night, when outrage wasn’t present to distract him from his paranoia, Neil might find it ironic (or maybe conspicuously antagonistic) that Andrew blew the smoke out through his nose. Tonight he didn’t give a damn. His patience was wearing thin and he wanted his answer. He wanted his answer almost as much as he wanted to reach out, to touch, to hold, to soothe -- but tenderness was not something Andrew had ever given him permission for and Neil would have to settle for the precious proximity he had granted instead. 

Finally, Andrew said, “Aaron.”

This only _slightly_ took the edge off of Neil’s protective rage. Aaron was a bastard, but Neil didn’t think he would ever try to _seriously_ hurt Andrew. A spat that turned a bit physical because they were both assholes, though? Yeah, that was pretty likely. Neil had seen them almost come to blows a number of times already. 

That being said, Neil did not exactly have any warm and cozy feelings about Aaron to act as a buffer for the torrent of very targeted rage now aimed precisely in his direction. Also, Aaron was probably the one person that was completely off-limits to Neil. Andrew would likely not be generous with his forgiveness if Neil went after him in retaliation -- which meant that he was probably going to have to… _let it go_. Fuck. No. _Fuck no._

Fuck.

Neil growled again. He curled his hands into tight fists to hide the prick of claws against his palm, pressing them onto his lap to keep from reaching out to Andrew. Someone had threatened his hoard. Someone had _harmed_ his _Andrew_. He wanted to either rip the threat to shreds or gather his treasure close to keep it safe from further harm and Neil was in the extremely unfortunate and frustrating position of being able to do neither. 

It was painful for a dragon to ignore his instincts. Physically, mentally, emotionally -- it _hurt_ on a level that Neil wasn’t sure he could explain to a human, not that he ever would. Neil was used to pain, though, and so he swallowed this kind down, too, like he’d done with every other hurt and strain in the past. 

What he did _not_ expect, was for Andrew to recognize his struggle. Even if he did, Neil couldn’t see why Andrew would care. And never -- not in a million lifetimes -- would he have ever thought that Andrew would actively reach out to him to… to _soothe_ him. 

But that’s what happened as a warm, heavy hand landed on the back of his neck and squeezed tightly. 

“I am not hurt, Neil. It’s alright.” Andrew’s voice was warm and low, glowing like firelight in the dark and tangled woods of Neil’s frustrated rage. Neil gravitated toward it and everything felt suddenly lighter. He wasn’t sure if that was the effect of making physical contact with his hoard or just… _Andrew_. At this point, there probably wasn’t much of a difference. 

Neil looked over at him and when Andrew’s eyes widened slightly he knew that it wasn’t only his talons that were breaking through. He’d stopped wearing contacts around Andrew to hide the real color of his eyes ages ago, but they only changed -- they only went _dragon_ \-- when he felt high emotion or if he actively shifted forms. Around anyone else, he still wore the contacts _just in case_. Dragons were not the only creatures walking around with slit pupils, but they _were_ the only ones with dual-toned irises, the outer iris flaring like a starburst around the inner. To say it was a ‘distinctive’ trait would be an understatement, and his mother would have been furious with him if she knew he’d risked taking his contacts out around Andrew but… The only times in his life where he’d felt something strong enough to make his eyes change were instances of pain and fear. Those were the only emotions he’d ever felt strongly enough to _move_ him, to bring out his beast. Against his will he’d come to trust Andrew to the point where he no longer had to question if the other man would cause him that level of pain or fear.

Somewhere along the way, he’d forgotten about how other emotions could trigger the same response. Or maybe he’d just thought that he wouldn’t have to worry about it. 

Well he’d been pretty fucking wrong.

“Sorry,” he hissed quickly, the word coming out too-rough. He looked away again but Andrew’s other hand caught his chin and forced him to meet his gaze. 

Neil held perfectly still as Andrew studied him, apparently soaking up this new, accidental truth. He didn’t flinch away, even though he had to know what it meant. He _had_ to know what Neil was now, combining what he had already learned about Neil’s past and the vagueries about his family with this final piece of the puzzle. He should know that being around Neil, putting up with him like he had been, standing by him, letting Neil _lean_ on him as much as he did… he had to know now how well and truly dangerous that was. He should be furious with Neil. He should hate him for that lie of omission. 

Instead, he just stared calmly into his eyes, unbothered and unmoved. Neil stared right back, sinking into hazel like thick honey, letting it wrap around him and drag him down, glad to drown in its golden grace. 

Andrew’s hand loosened on Neil’s chin only enough to slide up and cup his cheek and Neil _sighed_. He leaned into the touch and something inside him _purred_ in a deep satisfied contentment. Andrew finally broke their stare to flick his gaze down in the direction of Neil’s mouth. Freed of the spell of Andrew’s eyes, his own attention drifted to the bruise on Andrew’s face again and Neil gave a soft growl. He felt it rumble in his chest as he lifted a hand, tracing the air over the offensive mark without touching. He would never touch his Andrew without permission. He did not _want_ to touch him unless he was granted that gift first. 

That didn’t stop him from nuzzling against the hand Andrew still had on his cheek, though, didn’t stop him from tracing his fingers in an arc over the unforgivable mar on his treasure’s skin like he could erase it with a pulse of will. 

Maybe Andrew knew something about dragons, or maybe Neil’s growl distracted him from whatever had caused him to break their stare to begin with, but Andrew locked their eyes again and pulled the hand off Neil’s neck to instead take that floating hand in his. He gently pressed it against his own face, satisfying Neil’s need to touch as well as shielding the bruise so that Neil couldn’t see it anymore.

“I am not hurt, Neil. It’s alright,” Andrew said again. His voice was soft and steady. Neil felt hypnotized by it, lulled. Later, he could freak out about how right his mother was, about how big of a weakness this was. 

Right now? Right now he just wanted Andrew to keep touching him. He wanted to gather him up, bring him back to his apartment, and keep him there, keep him safe. Protected. 

He knew he did not imagine the shiver under Andrew’s skin as he brushed his thumb lightly over the crest of his cheek. Instinct kept his own touch light, far more gentle than he ever thought himself capable of so as to avoid causing any pain to the injury under his palm.

“Inside,” he said, instead of the million other things he wanted to say. The growl wasn’t completely gone from his voice, and he didn’t know if his eyes had gone back to normal yet but he was going to bet not. 

Andrew studied him carefully, considering his decision, and took so long that Neil forced himself to swallow hard and grit out a few more words. 

“Come inside with me? Yes or no.”

Andrew was his hoard. He was _his_ \-- and with that came the overwhelming need to possess and to keep and to protect. For some, for _many_ dragons, that also meant control. That’s what it had meant to Neil’s father, and Neil… Neil refused to be like him. Andrew was his treasure, and Neil valued him above anything else -- that’s what it _meant_ to be a dragon’s hoard -- and so what would always, _always_ come first was what Andrew wanted, Neil’s instincts be damned.

Something in Andrew’s demeanor shifted slightly. Neil couldn’t say what it was, but a tension that Neil hadn’t consciously recognized having been there before was now gone. Andrew brushed his thumb under Neil’s eye and took a slow, deep breath in. Neil felt the exhale like a kiss to his pulse and had to swallow again. 

Andrew said, “Yes.” His voice was soft, but sure. There was no hesitance, no trepidation. He was looking directly into Neil’s honest eyes and did not crumble or cower or seeth. There was no fear, no hatred, no disgust. There was only a cool, calm understanding. 

The dragon in his chest purred again, a deep rumble of approval that he knew Andrew heard because his eyes widened again. It was such a minute reaction that Neil probably would not have seen it at all if he hadn’t been watching those spun gold eyes. He felt himself leaning forward, craving the feel of Andrew’s body against his own, cheek to cheek and chest to chest. He wanted to nuzzle into his hair, take in his scent, press his lips to his pulse and-- 

Neil cut himself off and forced himself to stop, unsure how to sort through the impulses flashing through him. 

Andrew hadn’t pulled away when Neil had leaned in and now they were almost too close, a whisper apart, where it would have been more natural to close that distance entirely than remain where they were.

“Neil,” Andrew said, and his voice was quieter now. It was still steady but there was a weight to it that Neil didn’t understand, like the gravitational pull eating up the space between them was tugging on Andrew’s words too, swallowing up his breath.

Neil attempted to take a breath, himself, something to steady him. The problem with that was that with his emotions pulsing like this his senses were heightened, and when he breathed in all he got was the sage and honey scent that was all _Andrew_. It went straight to his head and Neil had to close his eyes, hoping that would help. He bowed his head and their proximity meant that in doing so he brought his and Andrew’s foreheads together in a simple leaning touch. 

Andrew did not pull away. Rather, the hand on his cheek moved around to cradle the back of his head, keeping him in place. 

“Thank you,” Neil rasped out, not sure if he was thanking Andrew for agreeing to come with him -- to _stay_ with him -- or for the understanding or the touch. Maybe it was all of it, maybe it was something else, something too ephemeral to name. 

The brush of Andrew’s thumb against the back of his neck had his pulse jumping, and he suddenly felt so cold when that hand finally fell away. Andrew’s other hand pulled Neil’s hand down and away from his own cheek but didn’t release it. Instead, he linked their fingers and gave a squeeze as his forehead pulled away from Neil’s. There was a shifting of weight around him and when Neil opened his eyes it was to find Andrew standing over him, his expression calm and even and empty of judgement but a blush of color clinging to his ears and neck that made Neil think of strawberries. He’d always loved strawberries. 

Andrew tugged on his hand, the one he hadn’t let go of. The stray thought filtering through Neil’s mind as he stood was that he hoped Andrew _never_ let go of it. That would be alright. 

He must have still been slightly dazed from the surge of emotions and the high he was getting off of Andrew’s touch because he almost didn’t register the trip from the roof down to their floor. Then they were stepping past the threshold of Andrew’s apartment, which smelled and felt like _Andrew_ and Neil had to take in a deep breath. A tension he’d been carrying all day just… dropped away. He wondered if this was what ‘coming home’ felt like. 

Andrew was watching him, waiting for something, and Neil offered him a small smile and a nod in answer. He didn’t know if he was giving the right answer, or even answering the right _question_ , but Andrew seemed satisfied. He started to move them toward the living room but paused when Neil didn’t move to follow. 

Neil gave his hand a small squeeze before dropping it. 

“I’ll meet you there. Pick a movie?”

Those keen hazel eyes studied him again, always searching, always learning, always deciphering things about Neil he wasn’t even aware he was giving away. Without revealing whatever it was he discovered this time, Andrew shrugged and turned away again, making his way into the living room.

Neil watched him go, then turned away and stepped instead into the kitchen. He crossed directly to the freezer and pulled out a pint of Andrew’s favorite ice cream and an ice pack. He wrapped the ice pack in a towel, grabbed a spoon, and carried his supplies back into the living room. Andrew had taken up his usual spot on one end of the couch, his feet kicked up on the ottoman. Neil paused when he saw him, then balanced the ice pack on top of the pint of ice cream and snagged the fluffy throw blanket off the armchair as well. It was the blanket that Neil had snuggled under each time he’d fallen asleep on Andrew’s couch. Neil liked how soft it was and how it kept the warmth in, and it didn’t even occur to him to resist the urge to pick it up and add it to the corner Andrew had claimed.

Andrew only looked up at him when Neil draped the blanket over him. His eyes were narrowed in a distinct lack of amusement, brows furrowing as he looked from Neil to the blanket, to the ice pack and the ice cream. 

“Neil.”

“Andrew.” Really, Andrew got off easy. Neil’s impulse was to tuck him in like a treasure-burrito.

Neil held out the ice pack and held Andrew’s stare unflinchingly until the other man gave an aggrieved sigh and accepted it with a glare that he maintained even as he brought the pack to his swollen cheek. 

“This is stupid, Neil,” Andrew said, free hand gesturing to indicate both the ice pack and the blanket on his lap. “I was punched. I am not in shock and in need of coddling.”

“You don’t want the ice cream then?”

“I can’t even eat it if I’m holding an ice pack. You think nothing through.” Something warm and affectionate and pleased fluttered in Neil’s chest at the tone of Andrew’s voice -- because Andrew wasn’t actually _upset_ with him. If Andrew were upset he would be cold and scathing. Instead he was… grumpy. He was _pouting_. Neil decided that he liked it. He liked it a _lot_.

Still, the grumpy treasure did have a point. 

With a shrug, Neil sat beside him on the couch, leaving several inches of space between them as he pulled the lid off the ice cream and dug the spoon in. Then he held the spoon up for Andrew to take a bite. 

Andrew stared at the spoon. Then he stared at Neil. Then the spoon. He seemed… frozen.

Neil frowned, concerned. Had Aaron hit him harder than he’d thought? Did he have a concussion? 

The very _thought_ of that had a flash of anger bubbling up again and he had to clench his teeth around it. “Andrew?” he asked, and he heard the growl of concern in his own voice. “Andrew, are you sure you’re alright? When he hit you…?”

Andrew flushed with his own temper, his ears turning pink. “You are an _idiot,_ ” he hissed out, snatched the spoon out of his hand and stuck it into his mouth. As he sucked the ice cream from the spoon he grabbed the carton and jerked it out of Neil’s hands, adjusting on the couch to be able to wedge it into his lap. He pulled the spoon free and speared it into the ice cream with a violence Neil didn’t understand, but was pretty sure meant he didn’t have a concussion so his hackles relaxed. 

“If you start to feel dizzy--” Neil cut off when Andrew waved a dismissive hand. 

“Watch the movie, Josten,” he grumbled.

Neil sighed and relaxed back against the couch, turning his attention to the tv, where Andrew had pulled up _Young Frankenstein_. Something warmed in his chest again. _Young Frankenstein_ was the first movie they’d ever watched together, way back when Andrew had been mortally offended by Neil’s utter illiteracy in film, and they still returned to it every few weeks _just because_. Something about the ridiculousness of it was appealing and the atmosphere was satisfying. 

Andrew shifted beside him and then part of the blanket was in his own lap. Neil looked over at him but Andrew was looking firmly at the tv. 

The beast in Neil’s chest hummed in approval and he, too, returned his focus to the rolling of the movie’s opening. 

Tomorrow, he could go back to worrying. He could go back to worrying about Andrew becoming his hoard and how to deal with Aaron wanting to punch his treasure in the face and what it might mean that Andrew had probably figured out that he was a dragon. Tomorrow, he could think about the dilemma of whether or not to tell Andrew who and what he was to him. 

Tonight? Tonight he was just going to allow himself to be perfectly, exquisitely content. He was here with Andrew, his treasure and his friend -- how could he be anything else?


End file.
